


Always for you

by Iwastemytimereading



Series: The dreams that become a reality [2]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Again, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Yayyy, charles leclerc plays the piano, idiots to lovers, late night writing yet again, no covid in this fic cause it sucks, still not over pierre's birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:47:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29447280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwastemytimereading/pseuds/Iwastemytimereading
Summary: The moment when Charles realized he was in love with Pierre and decided that playing the piano was the way to go.Or, Charles living in a dream, not knowing how to separate it from reality, fluff ensues
Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc
Series: The dreams that become a reality [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2162955
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Always for you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emotionalsupportfastcars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emotionalsupportfastcars/gifts).



> Soooo, emotionalsupportfastcars threw a freaking amazing prompt at me for this fic, and this was the result, i hope i did well and thank you again so much for your help, cause this literally wouldn't be written if you hadn't thought of it, so yeah.
> 
> also, this work can be read as a standalone, but can be easier understood if you read the Only for you fic first.

His mind was racing, not stopping, not giving it a rest. He couldn’t, he didn’t know how he could let something like this happen. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what he was doing, most of the time at least. But this, this came out of nowhere and it almost broke Charles to pieces, and he didn’t know how to put himself back together again. Because, really, who could’ve seen this coming? Who could’ve known that behind all those smiles, laughs and shared adventures, behind every won and every failed race, behind every hug and every moment spent together, there was something more, something new forming, something unknown to him. And when it hit him, at the end of the season, when he was holding Pierre in his arms, and when he could feel his heart skip a beat. And that was when he knew it, when he knew that he loved him.

Loved him more than he has ever loved anyone ever before, was there really ever anyone else? Did it start on the day that they’ve met, Charles’ heart falling for Pierre’s, never opening up to anyone else? Because he loved him more than the blue sea in the summer or the green trees in the spring, fuck, he loved him more than racing. And he knew that for Pierre, he’d give everything. And the mere thought of that, the thought of how deeply he truly loved the Frenchman, it all felt too much for him to handle and when he realized it, in that moment in Abu Dhabi, he could only splutter some half-arsed goodbye and drive back to the hotel, collapsing on the floor as soon as the doors closed behind him. He remembered sitting there, on the carpet of his hotel room, hugging his knees and breathing shallowly for what felt like hours. He remembered his mind going into overdrive, but such a different kind than the one it was in while racing. He remembered when he finally could muster enough energy to drag himself to the bed, sinking into the sheets and trying to force the thoughts of Pierre out of his mind. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, it never was going to be, it couldn’t. Not when you spent more than half your life with one person, knew everything about them, shared their laughter, their smiles and their tears.

And then he was back in Monaco and he started avoiding Pierre. He answered to his texts with only short replies, making excuses for why they couldn’t meet up. He couldn’t face him, not when his heart squeezed in his chest at the bare mention of Pierre’s name, and he couldn’t even think straight (no pun intended) whenever the Frenchman facetimed him. Charles’ days began to be composed of lying in bed, skipping through photos of him and Pierre in the past years. The photos of them both wearing bright smiles and happiness not once fading from their eyes. Those memories that were supposed to stay forever, repeat every single year, the same traditions that Charles was now started to break because he couldn’t face Pierre anymore.

He wanted to pretend that he didn’t know what had changed, but he knew, knew it was his fault, but didn’t know how to fix it and make it all seem alright again. He could always pretend that he didn’t love Pierre, that he didn’t want to kiss him every time they’d meet. Pretend that every love song didn’t make him think of the crystal blue eyes and the blinding smile that had the power to make others smile too. But he doubted that he could ignore his heart and his feelings and act as normal as he always did. So he acted distant and cold instead, and it hurt him so much, not to be able to see Pierre every single day, to not be able to laugh with him, to not be able to hold him in his arms. But he couldn’t tell him, couldn’t tell him of his love because it was impossible for Pierre to feel the same. And if he heard him say that, if he heard Pierre say that he doesn’t love him back, Charles knew that it would break him down and he couldn’t pick himself back up again. So he decided to live in doubt and ignorance, not thinking of what Pierre felt or how his actions have been affecting him. Because, surely, he couldn’t feel the same, could he?

* * *

And then he was scrolling through Instagram one day, seeing the post that Pierre had just made, the video of him running, with his shorts slung low on his hips and sweat gathering on his chest and forehead and he found himself unable to look away anymore. Because the way Pierre ran, with his eyes slightly closed and breathing deeply, his arms moving almost rhythmically, emphasizing the muscles, and Charles couldn’t help but whimper as he saw the video, re-watching it again and again. He wanted nothing more than to be wrapped in Pierre’s arms, to just have him next to him again, preferably in his bed, but he wasn’t picky. He wanted Pierre to hug him and to kiss him and to wake up next to him in the morning, for the blue eyes to be the first thing that he would see each day. But that was the one thing that he couldn’t have, he couldn’t tell him, couldn’t ruin their friendship, couldn’t ruin the only thing that he had left with Pierre.

The only place where their relationship was alive was in Charles’ dreams, mixed with the piano melodies that he had played during the day. In his dreams, there were soft kisses and warm hugs, there were hours spent together in his bed, with smiles and love in both men’s eyes. There was music, soft and sound, lulling them to sleep and waking them up each and every single night in the dreams that Charles had dreamt. There was always Pierre, kissing him while Charles played, his lips soft and sweet. And every day when the sound of his alarm woke him up he wanted nothing more than for those dreams to become reality. He spent hours at his piano, playing the melody that was repeating itself each time he dreamt, wanting to perfect it, believing that if he could, maybe then the dreams would become real and he’d wake up to Pierre’s soft smile and the crystal eyes. He knew how stupid that thought was, knew how impossible and childish it was and how it could never come true, but he had to believe in something if he wanted to keep his feelings at least slightly at bay. And so the minutes of practice turned into hours and hours turned into days and suddenly, it was Pierre’s birthday and Charles’ mind had turned itself into a mess once again.

A mess, because every year until now, he’d send Pierre a birthday text first thing in the morning and then they would spend Pierre’s birthday together, their families and some other drivers and friends by their sides, celebrating together, no matter the weather. They would spend hours outside, sometimes they’d make a campfire and look at the stars, roasting s’mores and apples over the flames, just enjoying the moment, not worrying about the future or the past. There were birthdays when they would stay awake the whole night, watching the sunrise, not even talking, just leaning together, breathing in the morning air and their shoulders touching. They would eat a slice of cake, side by side, sometimes reminiscing on the years that have gone by. It was no surprise that Pierre’s birthday became the favorite day of the year to Charles, he came to love it more than his own. Because on Pierre’s birthday, he’d get to spend it with the one person with whom it felt as if he could read his mind, make him happy when he was feeling down and fix everything with just a hug.

It was always an escape from the real world and Charles treasured that with his whole heart. Because while he did love racing, loved formula 1, the speed and the high that it gave him every time he sat down in that car, it was sometimes simply too much. All the pressure, from the press to the team bosses and the expectations that the whole world held over his head. It was sometimes too much to handle by himself, and when that happened, Pierre was his solution, his salvation, the person that knew exactly how it was to live a life that was so fast, so dangerous, and yet one that he loved and never could give up.

But this year, things were different, this year, he couldn’t go to Pierre’s party, give him a gift, say ‘joyeux anniversaire Pierre’ and accept the warm hug from his best friend. He knew that he couldn’t just say the same thing that he always did, hug him, and let that be it. He knew that his tongue would get tied, knew that he would say ‘I love you’, couldn’t hold it back. He knew that he couldn’t let go of the hug that Pierre would pull him in, he’d melt in his arms, not willing to let go. And so, he couldn’t. He couldn’t go to his birthday party, no matter how much he loved it, how he anticipated it every single year. It’d be too much for him to handle, and he thought that it would be the best for both him and Pierre if Charles just stayed at home this year. He couldn’t throw that mess of emotions that were taking up the space in his mind at his best friend and expect for his feelings to be reciprocated, things didn’t usually go that way, not for Charles.

No, he stayed at home, swiping through his phone, watching as the other drivers wished Pierre a happy birthday, and he longed to be one of them. Longed to have the power of just so freely wishing Pierre a happy birthday, a silly photo of the two of them, and some text on top of it. He longed to just text Pierre, to wish him all the best in the upcoming season, but he couldn’t find the strength in himself to do so. Because that wouldn’t be the truth. Those wouldn’t be the words that he wished that he could say, and he couldn’t send him a text full of empty wishes and lies, he would go all out, or he would do nothing at all. So, he decided to put down his phone and try to forget that it was one day of the year that always made him feel happy no matter what.

He ignored his phone, his fingers sliding up and down the piano keys, playing the same soft piano melody that he always did, in his dreams and in his reality. He knew the song by heart, knew which notes to play with precision, when to bend his fingers more, when to keep it light and breezy and when to pour all of his emotions into the song he played. When his right hand joined his left on the black and white keys, dragging the music out of the instrument in front of him. There were always mistakes, he could never get it right, but he had to, he had to play it right, he had to play it perfectly, because maybe, just maybe, then his dreams would become reality.

He then grabbed his phone and positioned it on the side of the piano and pressed record. He started playing again and again and again. Each take was better, but it wasn’t perfection, it wasn’t what he dreamed of, it wasn’t what he wanted or what he heard every night when the Pierre in his dreams caressed his cheek and held him in his arms. So, Charles played again, his fingers aching, and his mind filled with the melody that he was replaying for what felt like hours. He looked at the clock, and no, it wasn’t late, it was still the morning, but he had been awake since 7am, so he had indeed been playing for hours. He took his phone in his hands again, skimmed through the recordings that he had played, and he didn’t know why, but suddenly he was on Instagram again, his finger hovering above the screen before he posted the song on his story, not even caring about the world anymore, only wanting Pierre, but knowing that it was a hopeless wish.

* * *

Hours later his phone was still on the piano where he left it and his life had been the same as it had been that morning. He didn’t dare to touch the phone, knowing that he would want to check who had seen the song that he had posted, want to see if Pierre had seen it most of all. And even if he had, then so what? He’d come from Italy, take Charles in his arms like he did every night in his dreams? Make it all seem alright only with his smile and his crystal eyes? Charles sat down at the piano again, burying his face in his hands, the keys giving off an odd note as he leaned on them, startling him and he raised himself up again, looking at the instrument that had offered him so much solace. He loved it, loved playing, loved to dream within the black notes drawn elegantly on the white paper. Loved the world that he had created for himself inside the melodies, inside the dreams that kept him safe and sound each night when he laid down to sleep. And the music may have been repeating itself inside his mind, but he didn’t care. Because it was his escape. An escape from reality, from the feelings he refused to face, from the mess that was his mind. And he refused to face the fact that Pierre was once his escape from reality, refused to even think of the Frenchman, not wanting to get lost in his dreams and desires yet again.

He only stretched his arms, his fingers popping, and he set them down on the piano again. His mind began dancing, swimming over the notes that he knew so well, began thinking of each key that he would have to press if he wanted to achieve the perfectness that was the song playing in his dreams. His fingers flew again, up and down and down and up, skipping from one key to another, his mind already going to the half dream state that he was in when he played the song. He knew that the next day he’d wake up with his face on the piano, his neck aching and his fingers numb, but he didn’t care. Didn’t care that his mind had already began supplying him with images of the repeating dream that had become his life. In the distance, somewhere far away he could hear a door open and then close, but he didn’t pay any attention to it, it was only a dream after all. He could hear steps and then the person that had been walking towards him stopped, no sounds but the melody of his piano in the air.

That was… unexpected. In his dreams, Pierre would sit down next to him and kiss him, every night again and again. Maybe the dream had started to change, maybe his mind began to supply him with different things, it was Pierre’s birthday after all, things were bound to be at least a bit different. So, Charles looked up from the piano, his eyes meeting with Pierre’s and he stood up, walking towards him, feeling as if he were gliding on air. And before he knew it, he was in front of him, his palm on Pierre’s cheeck and a smile on both of their faces. And he supposed that he could break the dream cycle, just this once. It was Pierre’s birthday, after all. ‘Pierre?’ he didn’t expect an answer, the Pierre in his dream didn’t usually speak, and yet, ‘Mhm?’ ‘Happy birthday’.

And then he was kissing him, and it was just like his dream, except it wasn’t. Because Pierre was kissing back, and Pierre was tugging on his hair and Charles’ eyes widened slightly when he realized that it maybe wasn’t a dream, that it maybe was indeed reality. And then he could feel Pierre bite on his bottom lip, and he couldn’t help the moan that escaped him. And yet the kiss was soft and tender, and it made Charles melt into Pierre’s arms and he couldn’t find a way to hold himself back, but he didn’t need to. Didn’t need to because Pierre was there, he was truly there, his lips on Charles’, gently consoling him and promising him the world with a single kiss and a shine in those blue blue eyes.

And then when they finally had to pull apart, their lips red of the kiss that still lingered, Charles’ mind was full of ‘I love you’ and ‘Pierre’. And he didn’t have to be afraid to wake up the next morning in a cold bed, wishing for the night to come as fast as possible, bringing the dreams with it. He didn’t have to be afraid because he had reality right in front of him. Didn’t have to be afraid when Pierre kissed him shortly again and the words ‘You play beautifully’ slipped past his lips and reached Charles’ ears. And he could wrap his hands around Pierre’s shoulders, not caring of the world. ‘Can I tell you a secret?’ and he could see the wonder and the curiosity in Pierre’s eyes as he leaned even closer, their lips only a breath apart. ‘I was playing it for you, only for you, always for you.’ Because he was, because he had played that song so many times, only the one wish on his mind, and now it was granted and he couldn’t feel happier when Pierre’s lips landed on his again, peppering him with small kisses that they had been denied for years, that they didn’t even know they were missing but now couldn’t stop.

It was only later, both of them lying in Charles’ bed, the soft smiles on their faces and the love in their eyes, it was only then that Charles had thought of the days when Pierre and him were little and Pierre’s friends from school would teach the Frenchman how to play the violin and it was such a beautiful sound and Charles had almost forgot it. He brought Pierre’s attention to himself again with a gentle kiss. ‘Pierre?’ ‘Yes mon chéri?’ he looked down for a moment and then up again, ‘It has been quite some time since I’ve heard you play the violin, would you play for me, mon trésor?’

**Author's Note:**

> The video of Pierre running that Charles is watching: https://www.instagram.com/p/CKg8LBHs5xj/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link  
> the video of Charles playing the piano: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ePGzfDI10m8
> 
> and yes, i know that Pierre doesn't actually play the violin, but it's smth i'm planning on writing shortly that will have a connection to this fic, so bear with me please. 
> 
> if you liked this, leave a kudos or a comment
> 
> also, I'm on tumblr as iwastemytimereading1


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